


By Moonlight

by getoffmysheets



Series: From Dusk To Dawn [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fawnlock, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmysheets/pseuds/getoffmysheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was a little boy, John's mother told him bedtime stories about the gods of the forest. Or he thought that they were stories, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Could you consider this beastility? I don't, but that's because both parties are at least as intelligent as a human, and therefore possess the capability of saying no.

When John was a little boy walking in the woods, in dirty jeans and a jumper covered in leaves, his mum used to tell him stories at bedtime about the forest gods. Man-creatures who walked in the shadows of the trees, guardians of the wild wood. He liked the stories - loved them, actually - but never once had he believed that they were true. Not until he was a grown man with a house in the woods left to him and Harry thanks to their father's failing liver.

"You take it," Harry had snorted. "Big war hero you are. That place always gave me a fright! I'm happy to be away from it, honestly."

John...John thought he had been happy, too. As a teenager, going out on his own and getting to see the world outside the forests of his childhood, he thought he was ecstatic to leave behind the lonesome quiet.

Coming back to it, watching the sun rise brilliant over the hills and set blazing on the leaves, he started to wonder why he'd left. It was magical to him, but he believed that to mean it in the ordinary way. After a glass of wine with his supper, John had gone for a walk just as the sun set, never registering what day it was in his mind. The most magical and auspicious day of the year, his mother would say. Midsummer Eve.

And that was precisely why he found the moonlight garden.

It's the wine, John thought numbly. It has got to be the wine. 

Flowers - indigo and brilliant blue - twined up the trunks of trees with lacey white leaves and stretched all the way up to the bright summer moon. A spring burst forth from the roots of the largest of them, and the water that bubbled past him looked clearer and sweeter than any he'd ever seen. It created a large pool, smooth as glass in the ring of trees below. A strange heavy perfume drifted up from the open petals of the flowers. The tall grass around him whispered a soothing peaceful song. And wading in this pool, beautifully illuminated, like a vision of some bizarre paradise only for him, was the fawn-man. 

From the top of his head to his narrow, bony hips, he could nearly be confused for an ordinary human - except for the small, delicate set of antlers pushing through the crown of dark curls and the oddly enticing tawny patterns going across his shoulders and chest. 

Below the sharp hipbones, however, four long slender deer legs emerged. The moon glowed white off the shoulder blades of a human back, and dark and velvety off the flanks of a deer's.

Sea - glass eyes peered up at him beneath a fan of long dark eyelashes, shy and hesitant, graceful arms dropped to his sides. John realized that he was unfathomably, painfully hard in his jeans, and he almost turned back and ran because it had to be the wine. 

But the fawn-man drew himself up to a height, tall and lean, as if steeling himself, and said "John."

The voice was soft and deep, resonant and as velvety as those slender flanks. His tongue uttered the syllable of his name with a tender, caressing quality he had never heard before in his life. 

Just a name - just his name - and John felt his heartbeat against the zip, blood pounding through his prick, hot and aching. His mouth was dry and he felt absolutely no hesitation as he stepped up to the clear wading pool, his trousers getting soaked to the knees, and reached out to stroke the long lean sides of this beautiful creature. 

His tanned, blunt hands looked clumsy and ugly over the graceful lines of the fawn-man. But then the fawn arched into his hands and that soft voice rumbled "Oh."

It was not yet a moan, but a bit too throaty to be a sigh. It caused another pulse inside his trousers. 

He was so thin! John could feel the prominence of his hips, his ribs. And everywhere he touched seemed to coax another moan-sigh from his fawn. Wait. His fawn?

John looked up at the flushed cheeks, the lips - god that mouth! - parted through his panting breathes. At the loss of John's touch, the fawn huffed a breath and reached for his hands, placing them pointedly back on his chest, where John could feel his heart beating hard. 

He grinned and lifted his hands to caress the angular, alien, utterly captivating face. Yes. His fawn, indeed. 

"John." He breathed again, as John's palms cupped his cheekbones. 

His thumbs caressed the soft curve of each of the bones, cradling his fragile skull. His skin was soft, impossibly soft, and he could have stayed this way, stroking his face and staring into his shining sea-bright eyes all night. John thought this might be what love feels like. 

He leaned in, and pressed their mouths together. His fawn gasped, forelegs trembling against John's body, sighing into the kiss. John's hands skimmed over the powerful flanks, the bony hips, the long smooth back. Long arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing him closer. For some reason, his brain was caught with the idea that the fawn half began roughly where a man's genitals would be. He speared his fingers through the soft dark fur, finding only more muscle. Oh. Oh god. That meant his cock would be...

Clever, curious fingers slipped over the back of his skull, kneaded his neck and shoulders, curled around his waist. John kissed his neck, long and white, too tempting to ignore. "John," he moaned, heat and honey in his voice. He stuttered, sounding unfamiliar with the words. "Ki-kiss, John? K - kiss me?"

"Christ," John breathed. "Yes, you beauty. I'll kiss you."

"Sherlock," his fawn whispered shakily as John's tongue ran over his pretty dark red nipples. "Sherlock, John."

"Sherlock," John sighs on the sensitive nubs. His fawn shudders in pleasure. "That's your name, isn't it? Sherlock."

"Y- yes, John." Sherlock led him to the bank, slowly folding his long legs beneath him in the tall grass. Laid on the silky blue-green threads and held out a hand, shyly gazing up at him. "Kiss?"

John quietly said a word that would outrage his late mother and walked to kneel beside Sherlock, letting himself stroke down each long leg, touch each black hoof, cup the powerful hindquarters. Sherlock shivers at each caress, finally giving a loud, hoarse cry as John's exploration extends to the very human cock resting beneath his belly. "Kiss?" John whispers mischievously, gently tugging the silky skin. "Kiss, Sherlock?"

The fawn's gorgeous eyes go wide as he makes the connection, every muscle going tense with desire. "Not - not good?" he questioned uncertainly, bucking into John's fist. "Oh! John!"

John had positioned him roughly on his back, knowing a kick from Sherlock would likely result in more than a bruise. He knelt between the warm fur of his hind legs and lowered his mouth eagerly. 

Sherlock thrashed as his mouth closed over the head of his long slender prick, his large hands clenched in the grass, ripping up clumps by the roots. Every muscle was bunched up with tension, long neck arching back, the bones in his ribs pressed tight to the skin as he heaved in great gasping breaths. 

The taste of him was utterly intoxicating, like the perfume of the flowers, but much more primal, more complex. John buried his hands into the soft short fur of his belly, stroking languidly as took him all the way down, nose pressed into the rich clean smell. Sherlock sobbed, forelegs jerking suddenly, and he felt his release hit the back of his throat, tasting of moonlight and wine and tall cool grass.

John wrapped his arms around him, whispering his awe, kissing every where he could reach. 

"John," the fawn whispered against his lips, and held out his hand. Six dark, mouth-watering plump raspberries rested there, in his palm.

So far, his mum had been right. Everything she'd said was true. If all of it had been true, John knew what he wanted from him, knew what eating them would mean. By dawn, he would never leave this forest again, would no longer be John H. Watson. Eating what the creatures of the trees gave you would make you one of them.

Gently, he brought one of Sherlock's hands to his mouth. "Kiss," he murmured, sucking the first berry from tender sensitive skin. 

Sherlock watched all six disappear from his hand, eyes wide and dilated, as John's lips turned red with berry juice. He breathed his name like a word of gospel. "Kiss, John."

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this story were inspired by "Princess Mononoke" as well as the myth of Hades and Persephone from Greek mythology. 
> 
> Also: I'm sorry, I don't even know anymore. I didn't mean to, it just happened. Though I would love you guys forever if someone wants to draw this.


End file.
